


Alpheratz

by potatoblit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Fluff, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, porn with a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 18:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatoblit/pseuds/potatoblit
Summary: Pegasus and Andromeda share a star.Jean is a fiction: ego-centrism and arrogance, only a disguise for an injured self. Marco told Jean that through his cracks he could see strength, and he always felt all his walls crumbling before Marco's eyes. Looking fragile always made him feel vulnerable and he hated it, but Marco embraced his weakness. Marco with his dark eyes, his freckled skin, his hand on his chest, his too many dreams to fulfill. Always idealistic and dreaming of a better future, Marco.





	Alpheratz

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes... happy JeanMarco revival!

Jean moaned.

Everything he felt at that moment were Marco’s lips and the flavor of his mouth. The soft caresses of his tongue playing with his own. His hands, climbing his body over the fabric of Jean’s shirt, pulling at the leather straps. The tip of his fingers touched cheeks softly, tickling the soldier. Jean moved his hips to comfort the growing sensation under his pants.

Jean had already had sex with other men and women; after and before Marco. In fact, he didn’t like repeating with the same person, but it was different with him. He was his favorite. His bright brown eyes vibrated when he looked and smiled at him. In his summer-kissed skin freckles painted his cheeks and dimples when he did so, and Jean used to bit his lip at the sight, feeling his heart shrink. It reminded him of the autumn breeze, the smell of ripe oranges, poppies blooming and the summer in the fields surrounding Jinae; dry and punished by a hostile sun that in spite of everything, had treated Marco with care and affection, gently.

His fingers caressed his growing beard and got lost in Jean’s hair, pulling softly at some strands to raise his chin and taste his neck. That was their favorite part, when Marco freed that strange obsession with leaving Jean's skin marked, like a painter who signs his work. Jean always gave up and enjoyed how Marco wrote in his neck how many times he had slept with him.

He admired the dark marks on the other’s skin, but Jean had the feeling that he wasn’t doing it with the affection he used to do so in the mirror. He remembered himself connecting dark spots on his skin with his fingertips. Now he felt his tongue on the most recent marks and the blurrier ones, teeth biting on his neck creating new constellations on his milky skin and new galaxies in his burdened heart. Battles eroded his memories, yet he could remember those days when they were only children in the training camp, and they believed they had the right to be ambitious and chase a dream. When Humanity's survival was a minor problem and they could afford to fantasize about a future together inside Sina's walls, Jean thought he could see Marco reflected in the stars. He laughed when he drew silhouettes on the freckles of his arm and got to the one that coincided, in the same place, with a freckle on Jean’s skin. They used to laugh at it; they still had breath to do so back then. Marco said that if they were together it was Perseus’ fault, because he had sewn both of them to the same star.

His mouth stopped on the jugular, just where the hair of his beard was born, and his lips surrounded a portion of skin. Jean groaned, giving him more space to mark him.

"You should get a haircut." It was an order disguised as a suggestion, and Jean sighed at it.

“I know.”

Inside his chest, a sad caged laugh died. At some point in the past he would have felt self-conscious about his looks. His hair was longer, his beard grown as a grim reminder of the time that he had been away in the battle. Blonder locks, still light because of the chamomile, fell upon his forehead; his roots, though, grew darker. He now understood that someone from the Military Police wouldn’t be able to understand what meant for a soldier looking at their own reflection, seeing themselves disheveled and wasted, sometimes beyond repair. Outside the Walls days are eternal, and small things are a reminder that, in spite of everything, the time passes and days go by, and you survived to see the sun rise once more. Neither Marco nor even himself would ever have understood that, when they were younger and only longed for a comfortable life. They would never have understood what meant seeing a battle shaped version of yourself in the mirror after coming back home from an expedition.

He took the other's hand and kissed each one of his knuckles. Another thing Jean learned when living risking his life every day is to treasure moments like these. To live at a slower pace, to remember that only God knew if he would come back home. The curve of every knuckle, the salty taste of skin again his lips, the soft touch of such delicate hands, well-tended of a comfortable life serving the King in the Walls. His own hands were different; dry rough skin and calloused fingers made only to take a sword and fight. Those were the hands of an assassin, not the hands of a lover. He always felt like he wasn't good enough. Marco deserved to be embraced in delicate caresses which treasured him, too.

Jean remembered each and every freckle that decorated Marco's hand. He breathed in a soft laugh, and his free hand traveled between their bodies to touch Jean's throbbing erection, squeezing softly over the fabric of his trousers and tearing a moan from his throat. He never used to beat around the bush. Jean should feel used to that, with Marco things always were like this.

When the hand Jean was kissing was freed, he griped the other's waist and changed their positions, now hovering his body to undress him. His fingers tangled with the fabric of the shirt and started tugging at it to get to the skin, not even bothering to remove the uniform's jacket and incapable of waiting to kiss the skin on his chest. He entertained himself with the nipples while pulling open the shirt button by button and pulling at the white pants, also taking off his underwear and freeing his erection.

In spite of his impulsivity and what a huge spoiled brat he was, Jean liked it slow. Nevertheless, Marco always had those moments of urgency. However, they both always enjoyed them more than the actual sex that came right after. There were a few things more intimate than the act of divesting each other from the harness and the straps. Marco always used to do the same; he started with the strap on the chest and then kissed it right where Jean's heart was beating. His hands then went lower, caressed both sides of his waist and ungirded the belt. The harness fell forgotten, like a metaphor of their own thoughts, and they weren't cadets for a moment. Marco liked kissing Jean's torso and sinking his nose in his belly, still with his clothes on, and he really enjoyed making Jean be impatient.

He was naïve.

After that, he used to go on his knees and took off the straps that constricted his thighs to caress the area with his thumbs. Marco still remembered how much it hurted wearing the maneuvering equipment and always tried to ease the pain of Jean's flesh, as if he deserved someone to treat him with care and affection. Marco made him sit on the bed to kiss both knees while taking off his boots. The smell of sweat and leather was disgusting, but Marco was capable of ignoring it and kissed the inner thigh when taking off the socks.

His kisses then went down to the back of the knee, and caressed the instep of his feet, gently. Jean couldn't look him in the eyes, he was only capable of focusing his attention on the movement of the other's hands. Marco always looked at him, fascinated. He looked at Jean's eyes when he ungirded the straps on his chest, when he kissed his belly, when he caressed his legs. He looked at him while on his knees, and his eyes burned with desire when their stares met. That was how he demonstrated Jean he was at his feet. He worshiped him and Jean was unable to understand why.

A lot had changed since then. Now everything happened in a rush.

Jean pulled away the harness and the leg straps to take his pants off, while the other boy did the same. When he was done with the socks, he asked Jean to come closer to him, and he did so. He sat on the other's thighs and tried to make his erection touch his. He couldn't avoid sinking the nails in the tender flesh, and Jean moaned at the sharp pleasure and the soft pain. After all this time in the Survey Corps, the marks in his legs became burns and scars with the silhouette of the leather straps. This was the tattoo of the heroes, a whole life dedicated to the fight for the freedom of Humanity marked on his skin. In the past Marco would have caressed them, like he used to when they undressed slowly and patiently. When none of them knew what the truth of being a soldier was. His nails marked Jean's pale skin and the boy couldn't resist closing his eyes at the sensation. He moaned in the other's lips when his marvelous tongue stole his own breath from his mouth. He would never understand how a simple kiss, one like many he had received, could leave him breathless with trembling legs. It had been too long since he felt that way.

“I hate being this naked when you are that much dressed.”

“Don't worry.” Jean sat on his abdomen and smiled mischieviously while unbuttoning the shirt. “I'm working on it.”

Jean, always so egocentric, he loved being the center of attention. He kept smiling, enjoying the predatory gaze of the other boy. His pupils dilated with every skin portion that was uncovered, button by button. His hands caressed the sides of a slightly built body above the cloth; eyes following the path that hands traced, Jean hungry for him and eager to see the promise of was going to happen next coming true. Undoing the last button was like opening Pandora's box; his impatient fingers sneaked under the shirt that slid down of shoulders and Jean unleashed the beast inside him. He moaned at the feeling of something wet in his favorite place, under his belly button, where Marco liked to sink his nose in the trail of hair that descended his abdomen until it got lost under the pants. He felt teeth digging into his skin and he melted into moans under the attention of the mouth. Jean buried his fingers in jet-black hair while the other's tongue traced impossible figures on his skin. His hands caressed his entire back, bringing him closer to him. Cheeky indecent hands descended to his ass, and without asking permission they sneaked under the underwear to grab his buttocks.

"My God… I want to fuck you so bad."

Jean moaned again, possessed by the desperation he felt. He wanted it as well, although he would have agreed to do anything and was more than willing to satisfy his lover in any way.

In a skilled movement, he managed to get a small bottle of oil from the bedside table near the bed. A bitter laugh was caught in Jean's throat at his own thoughts. A twin-sized mattress, a bedside table,_ things of your own_. Such unnecessary luxury held the Military Police in their barracks while the Survey Corps was constantly in the spotlight for wasting taxes on nothing. Marco had always been humble. Raised in a small house in Jinae with four brothers, not many coins, a heavy childhood and the work of a lifetime; bruised hands embracing crops and bare feet on dry land since the age of ten to feed the greed of others. And in spite of that his convictions were firm: he still wanted to be loyal to his King. He wanted to serve him and make the Military Police better. Always idealistic and dreaming of a better future, _Marco_.

His hand sneaked under Jean's waistband and a cold, damp finger prodded at his entrance. The first two fingers entered with ease, the third one was harder to fit inside. It did hurt a little, but there was no pain that couldn't be cured by hands caressing his dick with delicacy and patience, even if that was something that didn't happen so often those days. Jean liked to think that his lover was more rude with the others, but still liked to treat him like he was the one, someone special. That he spent the nights awake, wishing for Jean to return alive from expeditions and come back to him, once again. Jean groaned when he felt empty all the sudden. Wet fingers took the waistband of his underwear and the cloth snapped against his pale skin.

“Take that off and turn around.” He punctuated his words smacking Jean's buttocks and the soldier groaned in surprise.

“No,” he replied, bluntly. “I want to look at you.”

“In that case...” The boy laid on the bed, resting his head on crossed arms. “Do as you please.”

Already naked, Jean straddled him once again and slowly descended on his length, trying to maintain balance with one of his hands on a slightly soft belly to prevent unnecessary pain. The warmth of his body welcomed him and Jean had to bite his own lip to hide a moan.

“It will be a pleasure,” Jean whispered when he felt ready to move, and his last word broke into a groan.

Although what he had offered to the soldier, the boy couldn't resist moving his hips looking for the heat of Jean's body. Their rhythm was clumsy, slow movements and sharp thrusts, Jean's thighs colliding with soft hip bone, the contact of their bodies exploding in the delicious sound of skin against skin. He wanted Marco, he wanted him slowly and hard. Among disordered moans Jean tried to look for a better angle, moving with a slow pace the other boy didn't want to allow.

“The pleasure will be _mine_.” As soon as he could, the dark-haired boy sunk his nails on milky thighs forcing Jean against him, hard and fast.

When their eyes met, Jean shivered. He saw him totally desperate, with a lewd smile, his pupils fully dilated. His bright eyes shining fascinated just from watching him panting, riding his dick, as if he was something worth of admiration. Jean sobbed and embraced the other boy's cheeks with his own hands, losing himself among his freckles and closed his eyes, joining their foreheads. He felt Marco's gaze on him while he felt himself break, following the silhouette of constellations he had one drawn on his skin. Jean was a fiction; he was weak. Ego-centrism and arrogance was a disguise for an injured self. What Eren, Mikasa and the others saw was nothing more than a role he made up, but couldn't stop playing. He confused the mask he wore with his own skin and yet Marco, unlike the others, always had a kind word for him.

Marco had told Jean more than a thousand times that through his cracks he could see strength. Deep inside, he was a good leader, a great soldier. Jean never got to understand why, and that hurt inside his chest. He loathed himself and hated how someone as good as Marco treated him sweetly, with such _love_. He felt all his walls crumbling and his skin undressing before Marco's eyes. Looking fragile always made him feel vulnerable and he hated it because he was weak. That was true, he was. And Marco embraced his weakness. That made him feel that being fragile was human.

Jean had never believed he was good enough for him. Marco deserved much more.

Each thrust made him see the stars. His nails dug into the other's arm, where the star they shared burned. He wanted to land on reality, but wasn't able to do so; his heart was expanding like a supernova. Jean couldn't control his emotions and knew that the fire would swallow him. He gave up his life to the titans in every battle outside the Walls, like it was theirs to take, and yet that wasn't what terrified him the most. He was fooling his fate, playing with his own destiny, but then, there was Marco with his dark eyes, his tanned skin, his hand on his chest, his too many dreams to fulfill.

The boy groaned on his cheek and dug his nails into the skin on his back, and Jean knew that at any moment everything would burn to ashes. Even so, he didn't want to be rescued: deep inside he wanted to break in a thousand pieces if that was the price to pay to feel alive, because even naked, weak and shattered, he felt powerful. He remembered hands stroking skin gently when scars covered their bodies but love flooded their hearts, kisses on his knees, stars in the sky that summer in Jinae. For a moment, Jean forgot about the Walls. He was free.

“M-Marco.”

He arched his back, his heart pounding hard inside his chest, and the orgasm exploded into him and ripped him whole. He screamed, moaned and cried, intoxicated by pleasure and overstimulated. It took a while for him to realize he was curled on the bed, maybe a reflex born from all the times he had to sleep outdoors in the expeditions. With tears in his eyes and a big smile on his face, he tries to catch the freckles on his partner’s skin while the boy is pleasuring himself at the sight of a naked, blushed and satisfied Jean.

“On your face,” he whispered in a gasp. “On your face… can I? I want to come on your face.”

“Please,” he said on his knees while the other sat on the bed. Jean took the space between the legs, caressing his thighs. He wanted to kiss his skin. It was soft and delicate, and didn’t have any strap mark. That made him feel relieved. He wouldn’t like to see Marco with damaged skin and tired bones like he was when coming back from outside the Walls.

He kept admiring him while touching every inch of his dick. Jean twitched his fingers, impatient, and tried to approach him and lick the erection, but he received a tongue clack as a warning.

“Be patient, dear. If you behave, I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered, his voice thick and sweet like honey. One of their thumbs followed the path of a single tear through Jean’s cheek to his mouth, where he caressed his lips. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

That gesture of affection was all Jean needed. He obliged, and finally felt on his wet tongue the tip of his erection. He closed his eyes and moved it gently, feeling the taste of oil, Marco and himself at the same time. The tip slipped over his tongue until it brushed the edge of his teeth, and the other boy moved his fingers through the length of his own dick while he felt Jean’s warm breath on it. The tongue touched him in a delicious caress he repeated when his lover groaned louder and frowned. Jean knew he was close.

His mouth felt empty suddenly, but he sat still on his knees waiting for what he knew that would come, heart pounding against his chest, straight back, eyes open, breath in, tongue out.

“C’mon, come for me. Please.” He couldn’t even finish his request when warm liquid fell on his cheek and chest. His eyes closed as a reflex. “I want it all.”

He felt dirty, used, and satisfied at the same time, for having chosen it that way. Leaving Jean marked like this, the boy let himself fall on the mattress, totally spent and tired. Jean dropped to his side and hugged his own legs; he needed the love and tenderness back. He needed the heat of Marco’s arms, the touch of his nose caressing the skin of his back and his lips on his chest. It hurt to think that he had had those kisses before, that back then, Marco would have cradled him in his arms for Jean to feel the heat of his body, his freckles lighting up at night and Perseus thread the needle that connected them. He might had felt the pain of each stitch on his skin, but Marco would had whispered him sweet words to sleep. Now he didn’t even realize that Jean had left the room.

When Jean came back to bed he could see that the boy had already fallen asleep. He covered his already clean face with his hands to run his fingers through his now long hair until he touched his own neck. He felt cold. Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched his partner for a few long minutes. The silver light that slipped through the window was reflected on dark hair, entangled in the strands that fell on the freckled forehead. The soft moon’s glow rested on his cheeks and Jean felt uneasy. Curly bangs, tanned skin, and a name he couldn’t even remember.

After the rise to touch the sky with bare hands comes the fall, and it was a matter of time for Jean to hit the ground. He kept thinking about Marco and the horrors that took place in Trost years ago, the smell of brimstone and what remained of his body. Stars die; after shining they burn out.

Until then, Jean had ever thought that death could seem so restful. In the moment he found his body, he was sure that if he sat beside Marco ignoring his half eaten face, he could imagine the boy sitting by an orange tree in Jinae, watching life go by. And he could picture himself by his side. Vibrant eyes would look at him lovingly and soft fingers would grab his face to join both their foreheads, a gesture to remember Marco smiling to him, caressing his legs, undressing him like they had all the time in the world, dreaming about a better world and laughing under the stars as a promise of a future in which they get to be together.

That night, Jean dreamt of him. Marco wore the same uniform Jean had and fought with the wings of freedom on his back. Jean knew that Marco would have been the finest soldier to wear those wings with honor. And in some way he already did. Marco was the reason why Jean choose years ago to fight shoulder to shoulder with other soldiers to free Humanity. He owed those wings to Marco, and the star that still binded them both by a thread. He would keep fighting for his dreams, and wear him sewn on his arm, in the wings of the uniform, and in his chest when he dedicated his heart for Humanity.

He would always remember the summer in Jinae, the orange trees, the dry days and the hot nights, the dreams of better days, Marco's bright eyes, the freckle constellations on his starry skin like the clear night sky where Andromeda is trying to reach Pegasus, neighing while flying away from her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry at all.
> 
> For those who want to know the Pegasus and Andromeda thing, both are real constellations that share a star named Alpheratz.
> 
> PS: This is a piece I wrote three years ago, I prEDICTED THE LONG HAIRED GOATEE JEAN.


End file.
